Enjolras rolled over in his bed and blinked dazedly up at the ceiling before casting a look at the clock on his bedside table. It was only six thirty on a Saturday morning but already his phone was buzzing. The activist grabbed at it and scowled down at the text.

Hey. With Bahorel at ER. Long story.

Jehan didnt come home last night.

Call 4 me?

-Courfeyrac (ISaBOSS)

Enjolras groaned and sat up, already punching the number in as he warred between irritation at his friends in general and concern for one in particular. When the poet didn't pick up, the blond typed out a text and hoped he just couldn't hear the phone or-

Hi. Srry bout this. Forgot to call

'Rac. I'm fine, staying over at a friend's.

:) Jehan XX

The man sighed in relief and typed back.

I'll let your idiot roommates know.

-E

Did you get any sleep last night?

:) Jehan XX

Enough.

-E

Almost immediately Enjolras felt guilty for the abrupt response and continued with:

Until some idiot woke me up anyway. :P

Have fun at your friend's.

-E

You have a nice day too. :)

Don't work too hard.

:) Jehan XX

Enjolras smiled ruefully as he leapt out of bed and hurried to get his roommate up so they could go out for food. On the other side of town, Grantaire guiltily put down the phone and stared ahead absentmindedly. He looked down, ruffled Jehan's hair, and extracted himself from the cuddle pile that had developed over night before sneaking off to get some painting done.

Detective Ramin Frasier knew his partner was hard to get along with, but no one could doubt his dedication to the work and that counted for something. Right?

As the man looked around the spotless office to the desk covered in files and take out, he reminded himself to amp up his campaign to get the older man a girlfriend. He placed a coffee on the desk and eyed his partner nervously. "Did you go home last night?"

"There were three more burglaries between eleven last night and five this morning." Javert muttered.

The younger man groaned and slumped into a seat. "Seriously? And they think it was our guys?"

"Unfortunately." Javert drained his coffee and eyed his partner thoughtfully. "It had the same methods as the others and the take was about the same. You didn't go home either."

"Guilty." The younger man laughed nervously. "I was at my fiancé's house. Anyway, did you find anything in the statements from last night?"

Choosing to ignore the fact that his partner had made a visit to his woman in the middle of a case the older man tapped a file. (Let it never be said that Javert didn't know how to pick his battles) "They didn't see anything. Even if they did, they're less than reliable witnesses."

"They seemed nice enough." Frasier said off-handedly and then immediately regretted it when the older man glared and slammed a heavy stack of files onto the table. It was an impressive collection; each file was crammed full of papers and Frasier had to bite back a laugh. "How often have you had to deal with these kids?"

"More than I'd like."

Frasier opened the first file and began to read. The first paper was labeled 'Anton Joly' and a photo showed the redhead who had smart-mouthed him the night before. He smiled as he continued to read; age 22, med student in his fourth year, been detained during a rally that had dissolved into a riot and promptly assured the arresting officers that he'd developed a case of pneumonia during his stay in the holding cell. Fascinating.

The next one was a large intimidating man that had been detained in the same rally for punching an officer that had tried to manhandle two of the smaller men. Brian Lesgle was 31, studying law and had a ridiculously long medical history. It would seem the young man had undergone every injury possible.

29 year old Luc Bahorel had been arrested four separate times; twice during a rally and twice for a couple of nasty bar fights where he nearly hospitalized his opponents. Frasier rather liked the look of the snarky and tough boy, who was apparently studying whatever struck his fancy, and had seemingly little interest in actually graduating.

The next file was rather smaller than most of the others and unlike his companions, not a student. Nathan Feuilly was 27 and only seemed to have dealt with the police on a few sparse occasions. Frasier felt a jolt of sympathy as he looked over the papers from a local boys home, describing the kid's childhood.

The sight of the petit boy with a braid long enough to throw over his shoulder made him smile. This one he remembered. Jean Prouvaire was only 19, obviously the youngest of these student activists; a student of sociology of all things, and a bit of a spitfire if the reports of him apparently knocking out a man at a protest were true.

23 years old, Jacques Courfeyrac came from a high-class family and was known to throw a punch or two. It seemed that on the occasions where bail was needed it was his family lawyer that got them all out.

The two largest stacks were at the bottom. The first was of Raoul Combeferre, a 24 year old law and philosophy student who had a list of brushes with the law that went all the way back to his junior year of high school. Nonetheless the man seemed to be a good student and obviously knew the system well because almost all of the charges against him ended up dropped.

Now the last file… It was twice the size of the others.

The photo was of a stunningly attractive young man who stared challengingly at the camera. Right, this was the one who looked ready to deck Javert the night before… Julian Enjolras, 22, also studying law and…

"Bloody hell…" Frasier looked up in shock. "His father is…"

"He's been disinherited but yes." Javert scowled. "For a politician's brat, he's more trouble than he's worth."

The file indicated that the boy had been getting in trouble with the authorities since middle school. As well as his protests and rallies, the boy was a part of many organizations and charities that had been a part of many successful social revolutions. Frasier couldn't help but be impressed.

"Are you sure these kids wouldn't be helpful?"

Javert glared hard enough that Frasier could actually feel the stare burning a hole into his face.

Grantaire stumbled into the kitchen, yawning in exhaustion, and just managed to get out a 'good morning' before almost tripping over his own feet. Valjean looked up from the stove and smiled. "Good morning. Coffee's on the counter. Eggs will be done soon."

"Merci." Grantaire tugged at the drawstring of his pajama bottoms, which hung precariously on his hips and stumbled to the machine. "I'll look at the gutter later today if that's alright? Looks a little clogged up."

"That's fine with me. I have to go out of town later, so if you could make sure Cosette gets where she needs to today, that would be a great help." The man smiled. "I suppose your friend is still asleep?"

"Out like a light. Thanks for letting us do these impromptu sleep overs."

Valjean smiled kindly and chuckled. "I wasn't about to let that one drive himself home at that hour of the night. You certainly got him wound up."

The young man leaned against the counter with the mug warming his hands; stormy green eyes stared down at the drink and he took a deep breath. "After months of no communication… Small wonder he's mad."

"Have you explained why?" Valjean moved to stand next to him, staring at him earnestly.

"Yes, and he says he still wishes I'd told him but…" Grantaire smiled sadly. "He gets it."

"I knew he would." Valjean said firmly, grasping the thin shoulder next to him and waiting until the young man looked up at him. "He cares about you. Your friends will support you no matter what you decide next."

A flood of gratitude made Grantaire hide his flushed face behind his cup as he watched the older man continue on breakfast. Valjean kept an eye on the cynic as he sat at the table and began drawing.

Hangovers were hell and that was Grantaire's only thought as he woke up. His head was aching, his body hurt and he shivered even under a thick quilt—and that made him open his eyes in confusion.

This was not his bed.

The drunk sat up and looked around the room, head still spinning. It was a lovely room, neat and comforting but none of that made the young man feel any calmer as he huddled in the blankets. He couldn't remember where he was or what had happened the night before and that sensation always terrified him. He took steadying breaths as he fell back against the pillows and covered his eyes with his hands.

He could remember… The rent, he couldn't pay the rent… And then the bar and –-his breath caught painfully-Enjolras, angry and telling him… and then he was in the park and it was raining and…

"R?"

Oh, right, Cosette.

He could kind of remember reaching her house and collapsing onto their couch as voices spoke urgently above him. Now as the girl walked in, bearing a tray and smiling cheerfully, he felt the shame building up in his chest.

"Hey now, none of that." The girl said firmly as she set the tray down and went to let the soft morning light through one of the windows. "Papa went to your apartment last night and Marius helped him gather all your things. I didn't know you two were neighbors."

"I think 'were' is the key word there." Even he winced at the way his voice sounded. He looked blankly at the plate of eggs and toast accompanied by a mug of tea and another of coffee before rubbing at his eyes, trying to force his mind to catch up to what was going on. "So… So he knows what happened."

The slight creaking of a floorboard made him look up and catch sight of said young man lurking in the doorway. Marius wasn't sure what kind of reaction he was going to get; for all that they saw each other at meetings he wasn't very close with the older boy and this felt like an incredibly personal moment. Grantaire for his part looked scared as he sat there, surrounded by blankets, tray in front of him and dressed in what must have been Valjean's clothing. For the first time, Marius realized that the drunk wasn't much older than him. He'd always assumed, because of the drunk's worldly attitude…

"…I know that you've been evicted. Cosette wouldn't tell me anything else."

"It wasn't my story to tell." The girl said softly as she sat next to Grantaire on the bed. "No one else knows you're here and they won't until you want them to. I promise."

"I think I ought to go." He tried to untangle himself but Cosette pushed him back gently and he blinked owlishly at her before picking up the coffee and sipping it slowly. Despite his headache, all he really wanted was a bottle.

Cosette smiled approvingly and stood up. "I know you don't want to be a bother but you have nowhere to go and we have plenty of room. You can stay here until you land on your feet."

"I don't…"

"Hey!" The small girl whirled and glared at the boy, pointing a finger. "I'm sorry, maybe you've misunderstood. You have no choice in the matter."

Grantaire stared at her for a long moment before turning back to his breakfast despite the pounding in his head. "Why are all the girls I know so bossy?"

"Papa!"

Cosette's voice startled Grantaire from his drawings as the blonde threw herself at Valjean and hugged him. "Are you making pancakes too? Because Jehan is a vegetarian."

Valjean smiled at the shy boy who inched into the kitchen, pulling at his sweater nervously. "Plenty of pancakes, fruit, and coffee for all. Sleep well, son?"

"Yessir, thank you for letting me stay over." He clambered onto Grantaire's lap as the older boy grinned. "R, why are you up so early?"

"I actually get up before noon now." The cynic said with a straight face.

"It's a miracle!" Jehan cried cheekily as he pretended to faint and fall to the floor, Marius having to step over him to get to a seat.

"By the way, you got a text this morning. You didn't tell 'Feyrac you weren't coming home and he got worried."

Eyes widening, Jehan smacked his forehead. "I didn't even think about letting them know. Drat, and this after me yelling at them about late nights…"

"I guess he was calling around in a bit of a panic." Grantaire shrugged. "Someone else had to get ahold of you so I'm guessing you're doing that thing where you blocked his number again?"

"Yeeeeaaahhh… He's been-Wait, so who called?"

The older man continued to sketch in his book, pointedly ignoring the curious look on the little poet's face. Jehan frowned and stared at the lowered green eyes thoughtfully before gasping and looking over the artist's shoulder at Cosette and Marius. "Omigosh, he was texting Enjolras…"

Cosette was on him before he could blink, grabbing his arm and shaking it hard. "Well?!"

"He didn't know it was me!" The cynic yelped while Marius wearily accepted a cup of coffee from Valjean. "It was Jehan's phone so I let him think it was him. It's not a big deal."

Cosette and Jehan both shook their heads enthusiastically. "It's the closest you've come to facing him so far." The girl beamed. "It's a start."

"Shall I say grace or would someone else like to?" Valjean asked as he sat down and the four younger people sheepishly calmed down and joined him.

Jehan's hand shot up and the boy quickly began to recite, "God is great, God is good, let us thank him for our food. By his hands, we are fed, thank you God, for our daily bread. This food looks good, by jove I think, no more waiting, time to eat! Amen!"

Valjean chuckled. "Now I know who you are. Cosette's talked about how much fun she had with you in that poetry class. I don't know much about the subject but she's read me some of your work I enjoyed it very much."

Beaming, Jehan began chatting with the man while Grantaire and Marius began a quiet conversation. Cosette looked around the table where all her boys were getting along and smiled happily.

Grantaire was listening to Marius with the look that Joly had once called the 'cat who ate the canary' grin and was the bane of his friends' existences.

"All I'm saying, R, is that I don't see why everyone had to say that it was such a bad play…"

"It's not that it's a bad play." The older man said patiently. "It's that, of all his works, it's the most ridiculous, and I'm counting Twelfth Night here. The premise that these two kids meet and just fall head over heels for each other is preposterous."

"Not necessarily." Marius mumbled shyly, looking over at Cosette, who grinned prettily.

Grantaire lurched out of his chair and fell into the other man's lap, waving his arms wildly. "I am agog, I am aghast! Beware sweet Marius, 'These violent delights have violent ends, And in their triumph die, like fire and powder, Which, as they kiss, consume!"

"Get off, you lump." Marius shoved him off, fighting a twitch of a smile.

The cynic hauled himself up, clinging to the table edge. "Your classmates are just messing with you because you're a romantic and fun to tease. You're right too, there are some great moments and messages in the play."

Jehan jumped in. "And after all, no matter what you think of the message you have to admit that the prose is amazing."

"Do you bite your thumb at us, sir?!"

"'Taire, shut up." The little poet shrugged. "Romeo and Juliet was my first play, it was what got me into poetry. I remember reading: My bounty is as boundless as the sea, My love as deep; the more I give to thee, The more I have, for both are infinite."

Grantaire grabbed for more coffee. "I like 'Don't waste your love on somebody, who doesn't value it.' Real words of wisdom there."

"R…"

"That and 'Peace? I hate the word as I hate hell and all Montagues.' I dunno why but that always makes me laugh."

Valjean smiled ruefully. "I think you would have gotten along famously with The Bard."

The smile that the young man gave him back was genuine and made the old man sigh into his coffee as the young people continued their arguments and fun; his mind drifting…

Valjean wanted to like the young man who had become a member of their household but unfortunately the boy seemed to be avoiding him. For someone who had been spoken of as a loud and passionate debater, 'R' remained quiet and subdued. He brushed off attempts to talk and spent much of his time staring into space; as though deep in thought and working out a puzzle that was giving him trouble. While he avoided Valjean, however, Grantaire seemed to have become attached to Cosette almost unhealthily; following her around like a lost puppy and silently watching them go about their lives. It was a gray Sunday morning as Valjean looked at the hunched figure in the pew next to him and figured out why he felt so strongly about this boy. As Grantaire looked around the church nervously, waiting for Cosette to return to them, the mistrust in his eyes was glaring. This was one of those things that Valjean could remember well.

Leaving prison had been hard. Attempting to regain his trust in his fellow man was even harder. He could remember all too well the sensation that every face he saw was judging him; that he was never going to feel accepted again…

"Jean, may I speak to you for a moment?"

Valjean looked up and smiled. "Pastor, hello."

Pastor Myriel looked from his friend to the newcomer sitting at his side. "I see you've brought a guest. What's your name, son?"

It had been a while since the young cynic had been called that, that much was obvious. Valjean watched the boy flinch and stare up at the elderly man in shock. Walking through life, never expecting any love or understanding, assuming that you were going to be rejected and pushed away… Valjean knew that life so well and seeing it in another was hard to bear.

"…Grantaire." The cynic shrugged, as though accepting his fate. "I'm… Staying with Valjean and Cosette."

"Indeed." Myriel stood there for a long moment and Valjean was tempted to break the awkward silence when the boy looked down.

"I got kicked out of my apartment for being an alcoholic." If the surprised look on his face was any indication, Grantaire had not intended to share that. His face reddened and he hunched over, tensing as though readying himself for a blow.

His eyes were screwed shut so he only heard the soft sound of fabrics moving and the slight creak of the hardwood floor. Grantaire wrenched his eyes open and found himself looking at the elderly pastor, who had moved to his knees to be eye-level with the boy. Myriel reached out slowly and put a hand on Grantaire's shoulder, smiling sadly.

"I am sorry to hear that. But you are in the best of hands with Jean and his daughter. I hope you'll be coming again. Cosette says you're an artist, I would love to see some of your work one day." He saw the surprised look on the young man's face and smiled again, this time a little sadly. "You're more than welcome here, son."

Grantaire lurched to his feet, dodging past both men and running for the door as Valjean stood to go after him.

Outside, Grantaire was taking deep, shuddering breaths and leaning against the old brick wall. Valjean stood next to him silently, letting the kid… The kid who hadn't had a drink in—how could he not have noticed?

"Son, are you alright?"

"Stop calling me that!" Grantaire slid to the ground, putting his head in his hands and rubbing at his eyes. "You… You're not all supposed to act like this. You… You should be…"

Valjean joined the young man on the ground and nodded his understanding. "Your addiction is not reason for you to be cast aside. How long has it been since you had a drink?"

"I… I think it's been two days but it may be longer. It feels longer." He kept rubbing at his face and tried to decide what to say next. He couldn't remember the last time someone had spoken to him about his problem without judgment or resignation. Most of the Amis had begun to resent him for not even caring about his health, and those like Jehan who worried about him had given up on his chances. "I've never… One of my friends used to tell me that the reason that I-I never get anywhere is because I don't believe in anything."

Valjean put an arm around his shoulders and pointedly looked ahead as the young man began to rub at his arms and let out a weak and strangled laugh that sounded more like a whimper. "Grantaire, what made you run off?"

"Didn't Cosette tell you?" The young man's voice was strained.

"No. She told me what happened but I want to know why this was different. I've met your friend I doubt that he's an easy man to know. What happened on that night in particular?"

"It's one thing for him to hate me for being unwilling to try; I deserve that. I did though. Try. And…" The rubbing was slowly turning into scratching as the young man closed his eyes. "I couldn't do it. The moment that the job got hard, I physically couldn't bring myself to do it. All I could think about was how hard it felt and how scared I was of failing and I felt sick. I've always sort of felt like this and it's so much easier to just not try because then there's no pressure and let's face it, I'm too much of a screw up to actually achieve anything."

"When you face a problem, is it like a wall is in front of you? Halting your movements?"

Valjean gently removed the young man's hands from where they were coming dangerously close to injuring himself as Grantaire jolted in shock. The young drunk was starting to shake. "Yes, and I feel like I'm buried in sand and can't move and can't breathe and it scares me."

"You're not alone." The older man held his position and made sure to keep his voice low and comforting. "I have many friends who have gone through the same thing. Son, this is not something that makes you a bad person. This does not make you weak."

"I ran because I can't keep doing this anymore. I can't keep failing them and not caring and just… existing. I CAN'T anymore!" Grantaire looked up desperately at Valjean. "I actually want… I want so many things but more than anything I don't…"

As the young cynic struggled to get the words out, the older man wordlessly pulled him into a hug and put a hand on the top of his head. "Son, you don't have to figure it out by yourself. This is a long process but Cosette and I will help you. You're not alone, child."

Grantaire shook for a moment before burying his head in the older man's shoulder and crying. The drunk clung to Valjean in desperation as years of repressed anger and pain finally released. Valjean smiled in relief as he rocked the young man.

This was a step in the right direction.

Frasier sighed and rubbed at his neck as he looked around the shop and took in the smashed glass that littered the floor. He nodded at a beat cop to finish clearing out the scene and looked over to where Javert was going through the smashed cash register. "This is getting ridiculous. How are these guys getting away with this?"

"We need to step up patrols in the area." Javert shook his head and joined the younger man. "Maybe a show of more man power will help deter them."

Frasier sighed and shoved his hands in his pockets. "Deterrence is one thing. Passing on justice is another."

Javert smiled fondly; well aware that some of his own stubbornness was rubbing off on his partner. "Come on Remy. We have reports to write."

That last scene with Valjean and R hurt a little to write but was a helluva release. Grantaire is kind of my spirit animal so getting into his head makes me do strange things. My friend/proof-reader asked if I was trying to make her cry and it was a mix of 'no, of course not' and 'eh-heh-heh-heh…' I hope that the dynamic between Javert and Frasier is interesting because I adore Javert and hope to continue to use him throughout this series. YES, it's a series now; still looking for a name for this universe but I have the sequels planned. Please give me feedback because I need to know what I'm doing right or need to change. Thanks for sticking with me this far.